The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(41)

My palm opens and I push the shiny new bracelet over my knuckles, easing it onto my wrist; I admire it alongside the others. They cling and clang and shine in the dim light suspended above us.

Then, before I actually think about what I’m doing, my body leans toward his big body, propelled by the heart pounding wildly inside my chest, until my lips encounter the bristly side of his cheek.

“Thank you,” I whisper faintly into the shell of his ear, mouth stalling there. Brushing the skin of his lobe. Tip of my nose giving him a sniff, colliding with his temple.

Zeke stiffens from surprise—or because of the invasion of his personal space—but doesn’t shrug away when my lips press to meet his jaw for another brief, spontaneous kiss.

I simply cannot help myself. I simply cannot move away.

He lowers his hands from the steering column of his truck, letting them fall heavily to his lap. Runs the tips of his fingers up and down the black fabric seam of his dress pants, up and over his thighs.

Zeke turns his head the slightest fraction of an inch, just enough so that our faces are inches apart.

His habitually harsh gaze roams my face, settling on my plum-stained lips, gray eyes softening, wrinkling at the corners.

“You’re welcome, I guess,” his bottomless voice rumbles, vibrating, breath all pepperminty.

I don’t know who moves first, and I swear—this wasn’t my intention. I don’t mean to, but suddenly we’re—

“Violet.” He sighs the question of my name into my mouth as my eyelids slide closed, our lips touching. Briefly, hesitating. The barest whisper of contact sizzles in the space between the soft skin of his lower lip and mine. A long, charged quiver that lingers deep within my spine, compelling us both to fuse our mouths together.

Zeke Daniels shivers.

It’s positively electric.

Chaste kisses. Kisses that make sweet…kissing sounds.

Once, twice. Again.

But then…

Our mouths open and it’s not so chaste. Not so sweet. His tongue, my tongue. Tenderly. Hungrily. And oh god, his hands are in my hair, gently caressing and tugging at the silky strands lying in an artful blonde cascade over my shoulders. Rubbing them between the tips of his fingers.

He twists that strong torso at the waist so his giant palms are cupping my face, gentle thumbs stroking the tears of joy off of my flaming hot cheek as he kisses any sense I might have had left right out of me. So sweetly another tear escapes.

“The bracelet isn’t a big deal,” he whispers.

My eyes flutter open; his are squeezed closed, long lashes fanned flat against his skin, and I realize he’s not talking to me; he’s murmuring these things to himself.

“Violet.” He sighs.

He sighs.

Zeke is… He’s sighing my name.

I want so badly to kiss his handsome, broody face all over. Kiss his deep frown lines away. Run my smooth cheek against his coarse, stubbly one. I want so badly for him to remove his hands from my face and put one between my legs, slip them between my inner thighs to the aching wet spot that’s making me want to moan.

But he doesn’t.

His hands stay properly above my waist, above my shoulders. Our mouths still welded together, Zeke’s hands move from my hair to cradle my jawline.

Gray irises lower to meet hazel, foreheads pressed together, thumb pads slowly stroking the corner of my mouth.

No, not stroking. Memorizing. My mouth.

My lips.

The spell is broken when a light gets flipped on from the inside of my house.

The bathroom.

Which means at least one of my two roommates is awake.

Of course, he’s the first to pull back. Pull away. Broad shoulders hitting the black leather driver’s seat with a weighty thud. The massive palms that were just on my body are running up and over his face, first down, then up, and he tugs at his raven black hair ’til it’s tousled.

Stares out the windshield.

And then, “The bracelet wasn’t a big deal Violet.”

Why does he keep saying that? Why isn’t he looking at me? Not three minutes ago he was whispering my name…

I’m so confused.

“I-It isn’t?” My voice is so small, so small and disappointed. I finger the new bangle circling my pale wrist.

“No.”

No. No. He’s always saying no, isn’t he?

I slump in my seat, grasping for the forgotten jewelry box that’s fallen onto the floor. Root around with my fingers to retrieve it from the mats, gather my purse.

“I-I guess I should go inside.”

The yard is dark. With no streetlights, the neighborhood looks shady. My house is dark, save for that one glowing bulb on the east side of the tiny, ramshackle house.

It’s apparent he’s not going to walk me to my door. Our night is over and won’t be repeated. I’m as certain of it as I’m sure of my own name.

My face is aflame from mortification, though I know I have nothing to be embarrassed about.

Deep breath, Vi. Deep. Breath.

“Thank you for the lovely evening and for the bracelet.”

He nods in the dark.

Feeling slightly dejected, I clear my throat. “Good night, Zeke.”





“Melinda, you up?”

I come through the back door, remove my dress coat, and hang it on the hook my roommate Melinda hammered into the wall herself.